Saturday, February 28, 2015

Cowboy 12 Pack Hits USA Today and NYT Bestseller Lists!

I could not be more thrilled to announce that Cowboy 12 Pack rocked February and hit both the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists!

Have you read the hotness? Check out the review for this scorching set on Amazon and see for yourself.
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Cowboy-12-Pack-Twelve-Novel-Boxed-ebook/dp/B00PKTN7SI/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

If you love sexy cowboy romance books, get ready for a
12-pack of 'em from New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors!

And check out the authors' responses to hitting the USA Today list in the Happy Ever After Blog!
http://www.usatoday.com/story/happyeverafter/2015/02/25/cowboy-12-pack-boxed-set-d-alba-james-tyler/23999795/

Here's a taste of my contribution!

The Real McCoy by Sabrina York

When Crystal Wilson gets roped into a wild, girls-only
weekend at a rowdy “stud” ranch, the last thing she wants to do is tangle with
a bunch of half-naked men pretending to be cowboys. But when she meets Ford
McCoy, she can’t help but be attracted to his dark, dominant, gruff appeal.

What she doesn’t know is that Ford isn’t a stripper. He’s
her friend’s overprotective brother, there to make sure his little sister
doesn’t get into any trouble. She’s surprised at the passion that flares
between them. In fact, what she has with Ford might just be what she’s been
looking for all along.

It’s a pity the sexy rancher isn’t in the market for a city
girl.

READ AN EXCERPT

She shouldn’t have taken the shot.

For God’s sake, what had she been thinking? She’d been on a
low-carb, low-calorie diet—with no alcohol—for a month. Not because Blaine had
called her fat. That had nothing to do with it. She just wanted… She just
wanted to do it for herself. Yeah.

It wasn’t like he was coming back or anything. And it wasn’t
like she’d let him.

But it would be awesome to run into him somewhere, say the
bank or the coffee shop or that bar on Grill Street, looking like a vixen. She
only had ten pounds to go to hit vixen weight. It was a helluva ten pounds.
They didn’t seem to want to budge.

And damn, she really wanted something to eat.

And damn, the tequila had hit her hard.

So hard she’d left the weekend kickoff party—although, to be
honest, she’d wanted to leave since the pumping music and the grinding bodies
and the strobing lights were starting to make her eyelid twitch. As down-home
country as the bedrooms were at this ranch-slash-resort, they sure knew how to
throw a bacchanal at night.

It was pleasanter out here behind the house, staring up at
the stars and enjoying the kiss of a soft breeze. There were no sounds but the
rustle of the leaves in the trees, the crickets and the occasional croak of a
frog.

Her head hardly spun at all.

She leaned back and closed her eyes and imagined how amazing
it would feel to be twenty-one again and interested in those kinds of men. To
rub against a hard chest and feel his thickly muscled arms hold her close.

But none of those boys had ignited a flicker of interest in
her. They’d all been rubbed smooth. Although several of them, and one in
particular, had made it clear he wanted to dance for her.

It was a damn shame.

It would have been fun.

What kind of man would she want, if she wanted a man? Tall,
for sure. Broad. Hard. Rough. Maybe a little wicked twinkle in his eye.

A door slammed to her right and her eyes flew open. She
blinked as a man strode toward her through the shadows. Her heart lurched and
the breath caught in her throat. Yes, her heart whispered. Yes. That was the
kind of man she wanted.

He was big, and broad and roped with muscle. His stride was
sure, determined and powerful. He wore boots that kicked up dust with every
step, and chaps and even a Stetson. He had high cheekbones and a well-formed
brow. His square chin was spattered with a dark shadow. His shirt was buttoned.

He looked like a real cowboy.

He looked like a man.

This guy could dance for her. No problem. She’d love to have
him rub himself all over her—

His steps stalled as he caught sight of her.

“Well, hey there, cowboy,” she purred. It was probably the
tequila purring, but he didn’t seem to care. He peered into the shadows.

She did him the favor of moving into the light. She liked
that his nostrils flared and his throat worked. He touched the brim of his hat.
“Ma’am.”

Ooh. Ma’am.

Sexy. This stripper knew how to play a role.

“You’re late,” she said.

He blinked. “Late?”

“The party’s already started.” She sidled up to him—again,
the tequila; normally she would never sidle up to anybody—and put her hand on
his chest. The muscles rippled in response and something inside her rippled as
well. It was probably her womb. Crying out for a visitor.

It had been a while, after all.

She leaned closer, against him, and it was good. She nestled
her nose in his beautiful neck and took a whiff. And daham, he smelled sinful.
Wicked. Alluring.

“What is that fragrance?” she asked. She needed to know.
Wanted to bathe in it.

He chuckled; the sound rumbled through her. “Soap.”

“Mmm. Yummy.” She scudded her palm over his chest, his thick
arms and down to his trim waist. He held steady as she explored, staring at her
through insanely thick lashes. It should be illegal for a man to have lashes
like that. His features were locked and hard. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“You’re hard,” she murmured. Oh, God, he was.

“Yes, ma’am. I am.” This he said in a low purr, one that
gave a sizzle of double entendre to the words.

Something cracked inside her. It was probably the remainder
of her pickled restraint. He was the hottest man she’d ever seen, much less
touched. His heat soaked into her and melted her, liquefied her.

She couldn’t stop her roving exploration and wouldn’t have
anyway. Her hand drifted lower. His body tightened, his breath hitched as she
reached his belt. And then she found him.

Her knees locked. Her pulse rocketed through her veins.
Because Jesus God, he wasn’t just hard, he was rock hard.

“Nice.” A whisper, all she could manage. She gave him a
little pump.

He hissed in a breath and said through his teeth, “Yeah.
Nice.” His hand came to her waist. He stroked her bare skin beneath the hem of
her tee. His calluses scraped her sanity.

“You are the most authentic of all of them,” she murmured,
kissing his neck.

He grunted and pulled her closer, cupping her ass, measuring
it with a squeeze. “Most authentic?”

“Of all the strippers.”

He stilled for a moment and she sensed he was about to pull
away, which she could not allow. He was far too delicious to give up. So she
nibbled his chin. She loved the bristles of his stubble. And he tasted…like a
man. More man than she’d ever had.

She released her hold on him and pressed her hips against
his, wrapped herself around him, hooking her leg around his. The feel of his
body, hot and hard, plastered against hers from chest to groin, made her mouth
water.

He allowed it, but then he did pull back. But it wasn’t far,
and it was so he could stare down at her face, so she didn’t mind. His breath
washed over her and she had the sudden compulsion to taste his mouth. Not a
need or a whim. A compulsion.

“You think I’m the most authentic of all the strippers?” She
had no idea why he was smiling, but she liked his smile. Especially the dent
that appeared on his left cheek. Everything about him pushed each and every one
of her buttons. They were rusty buttons, but he pushed them.

“You are. You really do it better than any of them. You sure
look like a real cowboy. Baby, you could rope and tie me…”

“Sounds…interesting.”

She stroked his back, reveling in the bulge of his muscles
as she made her way down to his ass, which she squeezed as well. “And you’re
really well built.”

“Thank you?”

“For a stripper.”

“Right.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you gave me a lap dance at all.”

“You…wouldn’t?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m…flattered.”

“Would you like to?”

His brow arched. It was a striking, manly brow. “Like to?”

“Give me a lap dance?”

“You have no idea.”

She liked the tenor of his voice, despite the fact there was
a laugh hidden in it. She raked her nails along the back of his neck and he
shivered. So she walked her fingers into his hair, ignoring that she tipped his
Stetson clean off.

God, his hair was soft. Dark curls. Silky and thick.

Their gazes locked. His smile faded. Tension hummed between
them. Then she tugged his head down and took his lips.